And baby makes three
by PaceyRowe
Summary: Five times people believe Oliver and Felicity are expecting and the one time they actually are. Sequel to Like an old married couple
1. Wardrobe malfunction

**Disclaimer:** Arrow belongs to the CW, Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisber and DC Comics. Any recognizable character belongs to them and I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**AN:** My native language isn't English so all the mistakes are mine and mine alone as I don't have a beta. If you spot any, please let me know so I can correct them as fast as possible.

This is a sequel to my previous 5+1 fic "Like an old married couple". It follows the events started there so I encourage you to read it first so this makes sense.  
I felt that, despite the the fact that "Like an old married couple" was finished and rounded, Oliver still had a lot to say and they still had things to live in the little universe I created for them. I hope you agree and enjoy.

**01 - WARDROBE MALFUNCTION**

Their whole relationship has been plagued by rumors. Whispers have followed them as hunting dogs. Hushed tones have become such a familiar buzz in their ears they've grown accustomed to it, mostly. They're usually able to ignore them; they certainly have much better things to do than worry about nonsense. But this time's impossible because it's not the damned press or the nosy people surrounding them in this stupid party; talking and assuming. It's his own sister, his own family. And it stings, fiercely.  
She probably thinks she's being oh so sneaky and careful in her coveted glances – that really linger a second too long not to be conspicuous – and in her quiet murmurs. But she really isn't and it's starting to draw attention to her and to them. And there's nothing he hates more than that.

He's been feeling them for a long while now – days, actually – but, since she has just recently gotten engaged to Roy, he has simply thought she was observing how fulfilling marriage life can be. Taking pointers, so to speak.  
For once in his life, he thinks, he's setting a good example for her. Not in the way he actually got married or started a relationship with his wife, because his little sister's way was much healthier and satisfying, but in the result. He's together with the person that means the world to him and they're blissfully happy. That's what's important and what he's always wanted for his Speedy.  
She's never seen a healthy marriage until he manned up and surprised his girl with an impromptu wedding. God knows their parents were more than a little messed up, both as individuals and even more so as a couple. But not Felicity and him.  
She's never seen such harmony, such happiness, such peace before in her life. And he's glad to be the one showing it to her, being the example of how life can reward you if you're willing to fight and work for it. It took him a really long time, but a needed one he cannot regret because it got him the best gift he could have ever asked for.  
He knows for a fact Speedy agrees with him or he wouldn't have to wake up early every Sunday morning to her banging on their house's door to hang out with the new sister she accuses him of not sharing enough. He's still working on finding it endearing but he knows she means well.

But this is not meaning well, not when it has been making Felicity stiff as a board in his arms for the better part of an hour as she finally caught on all the people observing and hushing about them or, more specifically, about her.  
She's barely breathing, the short puffs of air brushing irregularly against the skin of his neck, and the straining fabric of her already tight dress getting tighter and more constricting around her torso the more time passes. He's getting out of ideas for calming her, the circles on her back stopped working 20 minutes ago and the kisses on her temple and steady breathing coaching have just proved ineffective. At this rate he'll just drag her out of here, Thea's engagement party or not.  
He cannot make out what the people are saying under the pounding bass of the songs, so it's impossible for him to reassure her of whatever it is it's making her so damned uncomfortable. But, knowing his sister as he knows her, the huge grin she's sporting means nothing good.

The first time he saw it she was five years old and he had fallen asleep babysitting her. A rookie mistake he never made ever again. It's deeply ingrained in his memory how his sweet angel, tired of cutting little confetti with her kiddy scissors for their mother's birthday party that evening, had decided to play hairdresser. On his head and on hers. He was so mad at the time he's scowling in the shared photo he now carries fondly in his wallet sporting his very first buzz-cut. It was the only way to take care of the damage.

The second time he saw it she was eight and he'd just graduated high school. He was going to spend the summer away with Laurel and Tommy celebrating but, first, he was going to take his baby sister for a small trip to Disneyworld, just the two of them.  
He spoiled her rotten. He should have known better than to let her eat all that greasy junk food before she put that grin of hers to use and begged for a ride on the roller coaster their mother strictly forbade her to get into. He caved and he got puked on, a lot. She also puked on herself, the manager of the attraction, the poor people waiting in line and on his brand new car, repeatedly.

The third time she was 12 and he just knew it was bad news but, despite all that, he ignored all the signs for days. He should have known his little sister was up to no good when for two weeks straight his nightly conquest disappeared the moment he left his room to grab a bottle of champagne and she grinned madly at breakfast the next day.  
Exactly 11 girls ran away before he caught her right handed scaring the living daylights out of one of them with her Regan MacNeil impersonation, complete with the creepy nightgown and the gibberish talking, in the corridor of their bedrooms. It was his fault anyway; he really shouldn't have caved and let her see the Exorcist with him and Tommy a couple of weekends previous.

The fourth time he was just really glad seeing her so happy again, after five years of Hell and a great and painful distance from the most important person in his life, he just forgot. He should have remembered that particularly grin came with consequences. So when he got the call that his little sister was in the hospital for a traffic accident, and he almost had a heart attack, he knew he ought to have done something to prevent it. He had let her down then but he surely didn't afterwards being her rock and putting Count Vertigo on a padded cell for messing with her and his city.  
Now there it is again and he knows, he just knows, this time the cursed one will be his wife and he doesn't know if he'll be able to spare her.

It happens like magic, as if the tight red dress has listened to his worst thoughts and decided it was time to exert its revenge. For a second he believes the tiny rip on the side stitches of the dress is an anomaly, that it'll stop right there. But he's so, so wrong.  
He can feel her burrow herself farther into him, flaming cheeks scorching hot against his neck, when she feels it give out. She doesn't breathe for a minute, waiting for the ripping to stop but it doesn't. It just continues and the new panicked and heaving breaths she takes aren't helping matters.  
He'd catch her cheeks into his hands to get her to calm down but he's the only thing holding the stupid strapless gown over her body. He'd die before letting anyone but him see his wife naked. Her whole beauty is for his eyes alone.

The buzzing grows louder and he doesn't know if it's because people are noticing Felicity's predicament or because his sister certainly has and she's trying to gather all the attention to her in a late effort to save her the embarrassment. Whatever it is it's certainly not enough because a couple of traitor tears damp his neck and his heart just breaks. He's going to have a great talk to Thea about boundaries and coveted glances and upsetting his wife, this will not be forgotten.  
In the meantime, his whole focus is on said wife who's now openly crying in embarrassment and frustration on his shoulder as he maneuvers them towards the hidden door of the foundry. The only safe place they've got right now.

It's pretty hard punching the access code and herding her down the metal stairs with only one free hand but he's not complaining. He's more than a little touched that she's being so open and soft with him, it's certainly not a side he sees often from his strong girl but one he knows it's deeply buried underneath a solid façade born of the need to cover years upon years of insecurities of youth.  
He's done his best for years now to reassure her of her permanent place in his life after her abandonment issues reared their ugly face. He didn't do particularly well in the beginning but he's bust his ass to make up for that and to battle those anxieties that shouldn't have been there in the first place. His marriage to her have only made him push further into helping her rid of those and the others he never even knew existed.

He still has trouble swallowing as he recalls how timid she was the first time they made love, how she tried to cover herself up and bowed her head to hide her blush. It stroked him, deep in his core, because she had demonstrated to have confidence in spades for years and that new image he was seeing was incongruous to him. What he was starting to realize was that self-assurance was a wall, a projection to protect herself, and he certainly didn't like it one bit. It took him weeks of constant and deliciously bittersweet working, coaxing her naked the second they were alone and worshipping every single inch of her body for days on end, before she could let go of that unnecessary shyness around him.  
He had thought that having her cover herself in front of him would be the worst but he realized it was just the tip of the iceberg thanks to his always delightful and helpful mother.

To this day he still gets so mad he's not sure how he didn't break her neck right there and then. Felicity probably had something to do with it, she most likely grasped his wrist tightly letting her thumb rub steadily across his pulse as she forcefully turned his jaw to gaze at her. She knows he can't look at her with anything other than love and calmness and she uses it to her advantage. Or, maybe, she turned glassy eyes away from his before excusing herself quietly to the ladies room; which just disarms him in a whole different way, a very painfully way.  
He honestly cannot recall what happened and he doesn't want to either. He has enough remembering how she fled up the stairs of their home so quickly he was worried she'd snap an ankle on those sky-high heels. He has enough remembering that was the first and only night, since the one when he thought he lost her for good underneath the salmon ladder, they haven't slept side by side. He has enough remembering how he choked on his own tears most of the night hours hearing her sobs and hiccups muffled by the closed door of their bathroom as he sat with his back flushed to it just to be a little bit closer to her. He has enough remembering how the cold and condescending tone of her mother froze him on the spot as she wielded her words as deadly as Slade did his swords: "You will never be enough for him". He has enough remembering his Felicity's recognition of his mother's lie flash in her eyes, the worst and most inaccurate lie ever told.

He's never been more baffled in his entire life. How could she, the only person in the world to put up with him, his moods, his violence and his darkness believe she's beneath him? How could she, the only person in the world to stand up to him, eye to eye, believe she's below him? How could she, the only person in the world that gives him hope and peace and unyielding love and forgiveness believe she's not enough? He must have been doing something really badly if she truly believed that. And, for the first time ever, he realized just how truly messed up Felicity really is. He realized how alike they are, even in their differences, and it only makes him love her more. Because, just as she has been helping him heal for years now, he's going to spend the rest of his doing exactly the same.  
They've been working on it for months now and if he hadn't experienced it he wouldn't be able to believe it, but it's only made them even closer. And people have noticed, especially his sister. The same sister that's gotten him in this predicament in the first place.

He represses a sigh because he just knows she'll take it the wrong way, that she'll believe he's frustrated with her instead of at the real culprit, and he surely doesn't need anything else to upset her further. It's all his fault, anyway.  
He's the one who's been feeding her so much take-out for weeks on end her already delightful curves have gotten just a little bit rounder and feminine; not enough to be noticeable by anyone but his trained eye and, apparently, her already figure-hugging dresses. He's fallen in love with them as much as he's in love with the owner but, right this instant, he curses them. If it weren't for them, they wouldn't have had this particular problem and they'll be dancing and sipping champagne on Verdant's dance floor.

Now that they're alone, and safe from prying eyes, he relinquishes his hold on the satiny fabric, letting in pool at their feet. She's still so upset and so embarrassed she doesn't realize when he unclasps her bra, letting it join the dress. It's not until his jacket and shirt are off and the skin of their chests touches she notices what he's doing.  
It might be cliché but even after all the crying she looks beautiful. Her reddened button nose is runny but so adorable when she wrinkles it as she sniffs he cannot help the kiss he puts there. He also cannot help kissing her wet cheeks free of her salty tears or running his thumbs underneath her eyes, smudging further the ruined eye makeup.

Little by little he undresses them and little by little she calms down. When they're completely bare and she's so pliant in his arms he's mostly the only thing keeping her upright he lifts her, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He walks slowly to the foundry bathroom, savoring the feeling of her impossibly soft skin over his rugged one. He knows they still have a lot of work to do about her more than evident issues but not tonight. Tonight they both need to get rid of the remains of this hell of a party. Tonight they bask in each other's presence. Tonight he tends to his wife and they enjoy the overly hot showers she favors.

It's not until he's helping her wash out he realizes what the people were murmuring about, what Thea saw. He honestly hasn't notice it before, not until now, but now he does and he lets his fingers circle deliberately soft over her slightly rounded stomach. He knows it's not the real deal. He knows in these especially hard weeks of Arrow duty she's barely had time to breathe, let alone exercise or even think about shopping. But he cannot help but hope that one day, hopefully soon, it's back again but as a symbol of the start of their very own family.


	2. Food poisoning adventures

**Disclaimer:** Arrow belongs to the CW, Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisber and DC Comics. Any recognizable character belongs to them and I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**AN:** My native language isn't English so all the mistakes are mine and mine alone as I don't have a beta. If you spot any, please let me know so I can correct them as fast as possible.

This is a sequel to my previous 5+1 fic "Like an old married couple". It's follows the events started there so I encourage you to read it first so this makes sense.  
I felt that, despite the the fact that "Like an old married couple" was finished and rounded, Oliver still had a lot to say and they still had things to live in the little universe I created for them. I hope you agree and enjoy.

Thank you so much for every follow, favorite, kudos or comment. They really make my day brighter!  
Just as happened with "Like an old married couple" I have the whole fic writing and edited, ready for posting. So I won't keep you waiting for more. I sincerely hope you like this new chapter.

**02 - FOOD POISONING ADVENTURES**

That's it! She's going to the hospital whether she likes to or not. This is the last pacing he's doing after keeping her hair up as she worships the porcelain God, as she likes to call it. He's been telling her for years now not to eat the stale bagels no one touches during his plenty meetings but she's never listened to him.  
The first time they had that particular conversation was one of the most weirdly amusing moments of his life. The likes only she can whip out. He still doesn't know how she managed to make such an innocuous topic sound so dirty he just couldn't stop his laugh. It also became the moment he learned she could stomach anything and that she had an almost none existent gag reflex. He still has problems as if to catalogue it right on top or after the "it feels really good having you inside me" one. Perhaps it's a tide.

Throughout their partnership they reenacted the argument quite a few times but, as long as mold didn't plague them, Felicity ate every single one of them no matter his complaints. She never wasted food so her breakfasts consisted on that: a stale bagel and coffee she brought from home in an oversized red polka dot travel mug.  
It wasn't particularly healthy – even less so paired with the copious amount of take-out they had at lunch and dinner – or tasty. It even had to be a little boring. So, when he finally admitted to himself he wouldn't be able to stop her, he made sure to have cream cheese and different jellies in storage for her to spice them up.  
Now she doesn't truly need it. Since they started their relationship he's made sure they always have time for breakfast every morning. He could defend himself in the kitchen with breakfast foods and he put it to good use. At least one of their meals should be hot and homemade. But not today. Not these last few weeks, actually. They've been leaving the house as bats out of Hell for days thanks first to Arrow business and now to QC and she's returned to the bagels and cream cheese, which's brought them here for the third time in less than an hour.

He warned her the first day but she didn't listen. He's kept warning her again and again but she just shrugged him off, completely ignoring the fact it didn't settle quite alright with her stomach later in the day. She was only fooling herself believing he couldn't see that.  
This morning he was so fed up he decided he was going to dump everything in the trash before she got to it but she caught him right handed. She yelled his name in outrage so sharply he was sure if Digg had been there with them he'd have rushed to see if he was trying to kill her. It's absolutely ridiculous how seriously she takes food.  
It's not as if it doesn't smells funky. Who knows how long that cream cheese has been lying around, for God's sake, and she just had to eat it. With a smug-ass grin on her face and licking her fingers clean afterwards, he might add. He knows food is a privilege, if someone's damn aware of that it's him. And he's eaten a lot of nasty stuff in his life but for survival, not to make a point. Nothing has been as disgusting as that, though, which has led to the first denied kiss in their relationship. Pout or not pout he wasn't going to get anywhere near her lips until her mouth was completely clean, no matter how much he loves her or how tempting they looked painted in his favorite shade of pink.

He's shaking his head in disbelief at her reckless eating patterns when he hears it again. The retching is muffled by the private bathroom door in his Executive floor, but he can hear it as clear as day and curses before rushing to her. He falls on his knees behind her to gather her long ponytail up in his fist, free arm banding around her torso to keep her steady as she shivers coughing and moaning over the toilet. He can feel her stomach muscles contract painfully under his hand and he doesn't fight the need to string kisses all over the exposed skin of her nape, hoping it brings her some kind of comfort. No matter how frustrated he's at her, it always hurts to see her in pain; looking so miserable and small.  
He's so focused on his wife he barely notices Digg joining them on the bathroom until his impressive figure blockades the doorway and darkens the little room. He doesn't even have to look up to know his concern for the petite blonde is making his face frown and cross his arms over his chest to restrain himself from reaching her. He's got her and his big brother tendency will have to wait to hold her and comfort her until they're done.

She suddenly slumps and he sighs in relief that it's over, for now. By now they've made a routine so while he handles her a bundle of toilet paper to clean up she settles herself against the tiled wall, letting the coolness seep through her thin blouse to keep her overheated skin at bay. He closes the lid before flushing the toilet. He learnt that the hard way when the smell of her own vomit made her retch all over again, narrowly missing him, just a few minutes ago.  
By the time he's done tiding everything up her breathing is steadier but she still looks quite pale, sweat beaded on her forehead and flushed cheeks. His lips brush over them, feeling the concerning heat. Of course she'll run a fever.

They move carefully, testing every single movement to assure her stomach doesn't roll anymore. They have a couple of scares, as he helps her stand up and on the first step they take, but her skin doesn't turn that sickly green hue he's witnessed today for the first time, so he knows they're in the clear. But, this time, he doesn't leave her alone. He stands right behind her, her back flushed with his front and his hands covering her upset stomach, as she slowly brushes her teeth.  
He can feel her knees trembling. He can feel the churning of her stomach against his palms. He can feel the cold sweat running down her back transferring to his own clothes. He can see her glassy eyes shine in frustration and tiredness. So he holds her closer, making sure he's the one shouldering most of her weight.

For a few moments he forgets about Digg. It's not something he's still comfortable with but it's becoming more and more frequent with the closest people in his life.  
He still likes the control; he still needs it and he still craves it. But, in all these years away from the island, he's learnt to let go a little. He's not as high strung as he once was during the first days; hell, the first year. It hasn't been easy because it's so deeply ingrained in him it comes more naturally than anything else.  
He's always aware of everything. He knows exactly how many people there are in the room by the amount of inspirations around him. He knows exactly how many people are threats by the way they carry themselves, how they act, how they interact. He knows exactly how many weapons he can makeshift in every single room with the possibilities it offers. He knows exactly how many exists there are and where to find them, how close they are and how useful they could be. He only needs one glance for his brain to process all that information. It can be overwhelming but it's also very useful. He survived thanks to it, more than once and not just on the island.  
But, since surrendering to his feelings for Felicity, he's learnt another thing; one thing that comes even more naturally than breathing: he gets lost in her. Every single thing she does is, for an unknown reason, fascinating to him. It really doesn't matter how mundane or remarkable whatever she does is, he's entranced.

In the infancy of their friendship he remembers watching her closely, making sure she was actually there; that she hadn't left, that she wasn't just a figment of his imagination. He was very cautious, looking frequently but not so long it was noticed. He was so baffled that someone like her would choose to be in that damp and cold foundry basement he sometimes had trouble believing she was real and her colorful soul was actually encased in those grey walls.

As time passed and their friendship evolved and deepened he got more obvious. She had already had a few scary encounters with the world he brought her into and he needed to make sure she was still there. Not for the same reasons as before but to assure himself she was alive and kicking, just as vibrant and strong and pigheaded as ever. By that time her brightness had extended throughout his previously depressing sanctuary thanks to her miraculous touch, but he still had trouble believing his luck. He observed from afar, always vigilant and always wondering when he wouldn't be able to find her near him, but never so intently to make her notice. Many people did though, much to his chagrin, but their lips remained tightly shut. He could see it in their knowing eyes but he ignored it. He was really good at that.

It was gradually when he realized he couldn't keep disregarding the stares. They became so obvious everyone might as well be yelling at him and he panicked. He honest to God panicked, he's done denying how stupid and cowardly he was right then concerning her and his feelings for her.  
He was so terrified of how people were reading something he wasn't really ready to even admit to himself he reacted as he did in his youth. He buried his head in the sand. He ran from flower to flower until those knowing stares turned into disbelieving shakes of the head at his stupidity. He made so many bad decisions in those days it took him years to return everything to its rightful place, let alone begin to make everything up for Felicity.  
But she never left. Despite everything he'd put her through she didn't go away and, when he started to rebuild his life from scratch once more, she was there front and center as always.  
He watched her then with such intensity she was very aware of what he was doing every single time. She chastised him frequently and blushed even more, but he kept on doing it. He even regaled her with his most genuine smile more often than not, garnering another one in return. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and he wouldn't mind if he got burned; he was sure it'd be worthy.

The rumors about the evolution of their relationship only increased the amount of time he spent staring at her to such point that when they started their romantic relationship he thought he'd finally be able to stop. Except he didn't, he couldn't. Instead, he had a lot more time to keep staring at her in ways he hadn't even dared to imagine. He has every single first vividly painted in his memory thanks to that. The first sleeping night sharing a bed. The first shower. The first cooking adventure. The first time she dressed in front of him. The first time she undressed. The first time they made love.  
They didn't have many firsts left. They've already gone through so much he's surely seen her in any kind of situation, good or bad, so he made a promise to himself to tone it down from their wedding on. He broke that promise before the ceremony even started. He just couldn't help himself from looking at her glowing in happiness; he wouldn't have been surprised if her smile was perpetually etched on her face. He started to break it then but he has kept on doing it time and time again in these last few months. By now he just knows it's a part of him. He's accepted he's never going to be able to stop watching her and he doesn't want to either.

He's sure those stares are the reason he's so tuned to her. That's why he's running the water on the sink seconds before she pulls the toothbrush from her mouth. That's why he's reaching for their last clean hand-towel and wetting it before she can even think about it. That's why he knows she's going to finally cave and rest. He might not be able to get her to the hospital as he'd like – he's not stupid enough not to realize she cannot actually ride the elevator without throwing up, let alone drive on a car – but he's going to take whatever victory he can.

Digg follows them like a shadow as he helps her lay on the couch in his office, even going to the lengths of grabbing his trashcan and the spare blanket she stored there for emergencies and bring everything to him. He retreats silently letting him take over once more, cold towel set over her brow and hand rubbing circles over her stomach. For a few minutes he tends to her as dutifully and tenderly as he can, brushing away her apologies with more caresses on her abdomen and kisses on her overly hot forehead. He knows she's learnt her lesson; at least, for a few days.

She tosses and turns for a while, not finding a comfortable position. His heart goes to her. He knows she still has a few hours of feeling like crap. When the fever breaks she'll be fine, until then he'll do anything in his power to make her as comfortable as possible.  
He lets her cuddle herself so far up his body she's mostly resting on his lap but she falls asleep that way so he just holds her tightly in place. He can feel his muscles unlock and his heart loosen from the tight hold it's been on from the moment she made a mad run to the bathroom the first time, which only makes her unconsciously wiggle further into him until her hot forehead rests on the crook of his neck.  
Diggle lets himself known then, moving a chair closer so that he's in front of them. He even readjusts the blanket to cover Felicity better, but he doesn't say anything and he just knows it's not because he doesn't want to disturb her.

It's the first time since his friend returned to the office that he's looked at him and there's… something… he cannot name. It unsettles him. Just like with Felicity years of friendship have trained him into the older man's looks, mannerisms and hidden meanings behind his silences. But he can say, without a shadow of a doubt, the way he's looking at him right now is completely new. He can identify the different subtleties he already knows of but the meaning of their combination escapes him. There's the slightly furrowed brow, a consequence of his concern for their girl. The slightly thinned lips, a sign that he's restraining himself from talking. But it's the gleam of his eyes, the ecstatic kind of shine, he cannot figure out in this context.  
He contains the urge to fidget, very mindful of his wife still tightly draped in his arms. He might not be doing a very good job because his friend's lips curve now, ever so slightly, and he just glares at him. He knows that one too: amusement. Not any kind of amusement but the one at his cost.

Minutes pass and pass and they keep looking at each other. He knows Digg's trying to tell him something, something important, but he doesn't get it and the older man is getting more irritably entertained by the second. It's not until he shakes his head in defeat and stands up to leave them be that he gets it.  
His brown eyes settle very obviously on Felicity's stomach, more specifically on his hand over it. The same hand that's still caressing it softly and soothingly although, from his point of view, it might as well be protectively and reverently.  
He knows he's made the wrong assumptions, he knows he lacks the context of this morning but just as he's opening his mouth to explain he leaves the room quietly. He has a feeling denying this new rumor running rampant between their friends and family is going to be just as difficult, if not more, than the wedding one once was.


	3. Night of terror

**Disclaimer:** Arrow belongs to the CW, Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisber and DC Comics. Any recognizable character belongs to them and I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**AN:** My native language isn't English so all the mistakes are mine and mine alone as I don't have a beta. If you spot any, please let me know so I can correct them as fast as possible.

This is a sequel to my previous 5+1 fic "Like an old married couple". It's follows the events started there so I encourage you to read it first so this makes sense.  
I felt that, despite the the fact that "Like an old married couple" was finished and rounded, Oliver still had a lot to say and they still had things to live in the little universe I created for them. I hope you agree and enjoy.

Thank you so much for every follow, favorite, kudos or comment. They really make my day brighter!  
This chapter is a little different that the previous two. Those were focused of Felicity and her "pregnancy" symptoms. But this one's all Oliver and his issues. Hope you like it even if it's a little heavier than expected in a pregnancy fic.

**03 - NIGHT OF TERROR**

His steps echo noisily on the metal steps of the Foundry's staircase as he descends as fast as he can. He'd bellow her name at the top of his lungs if his heart weren't locked there. So the only thing he can do is push himself further and pray. Pray long and hard for her to be alright. Pray that not a single golden hair on her head has been touched. Pray that not a scratch or bruise has marred her delicate skin. Pray that not a drop of her blood has been spilled.

He barely acknowledges Roy as he tries to stop him and talk to him but, Mirakuru enhanced or not, there's not a force on this Earth capable of keeping him away from Felicity. Not when he's heard her scream his name through the comm links in terror and he was not there to respond and protect her. Not when static has been the only companion in his ear for 47 torturous minutes. Not when he's broken every single traffic law known to man just to get here, praying for her to be safe in the place they call home. Not when he's imagined the worst. They've not been married long enough for him to even consider the possibility of becoming a widower and, yet, he's been faced with it tonight. It makes him shudder.

The bathroom door opens suddenly and it's a strange sensation being able to fully take long deep breaths again while he's still breathless. He can barely see her underneath his tightly restrained tears but she's safe and sound. Not a scratch, not a bruise. He's never been so relieved in his entire life however all the terror of the night comes crashing in on him as if it were a ten ton truck.  
His chest feels tighter than it did before and his heart, now back in its rightful place, beats a rapid staccato that threatens to bruise his ribs from the inside. Cold sweat covers his whole body in a thin sheen and the low temperature of the foundry only makes him shiver all the harder. The leather jacket itches as it sticks uncomfortably to his damp skin and the stiff material feels so constricting he's sure that's the real cause why he's unable to breathe. He tries to take it off, he really does, but his hands are shacking so harshly his fingers can't even feel the tab of the zipper to get it off.

He knows what's happening to him then. In fact, it's not the first time it's happened to him and given his lifestyle – and more importantly, his wife's – he knows it probably won't be the last. But having experience with panic attacks doesn't exactly make them easier or more manageable, just the opposite.  
He knows what's next. He knows how bad he'll feel for days after. He also knows he shouldn't be thinking about that but, instead, trying to breathe deeply through it to easy it down. But he can't. He can only hear her scream in his brain, repeating on a loop. When the room starts to spin around him and his stomach feels as if attacked by a myriad of needles he knows he's too far gone to pull himself from it. He needs to let it run its course and hope it ends soon.

He doesn't know if he's moved or if she's crossed the distance between them but he can feel her skin on his cheek, sensing it so far away he can barely detect it. He presses his face harder against her palm, so deliciously hot in contrast with the cold buried deep within his bones that if he could he'd sigh. Instead he just closes his eyes, concentrating with everything he has on that familiar feeling.

He's trembling even harder now but it's a weird kind. He's so unsettled by it that his hands grab her low by the waist, thumbs rubbing shaky circles on her stomach. He just has to concentrate on her and it'd go away. It has to go away. But it doesn't and he whimpers, rubbing faster and gripping harder to keep his mind focused on what matters. Her. Only her. He's clutching her so hard now he's probably bruising her and, at any other time he'd be worried for her, but the shacking never stops and he just has enough fear about himself he doesn't even register it. It's useless, though, it never goes away and he cannot even attempt to control it anymore.

He opens his eyes desperately and there she is, frown so deep it's making her glasses slip from her nose, her right hand gripping his quiver's strap tightly and shaking him with all the force in her petite body.  
She looks so scared and so sad, yet so strong, he sucks in a breath. He wants to reassure her, to calm her and to comfort her but his throat is closed up. He thinks she's doing that for him because her lips are moving but not a word permeates his brain so he cannot be sure. He's sure, though, that this is actually the first time since he's known her that he's not listening at her.  
He never wanted that. If there's something he always prides himself in is in listening to her. Always. No matter what she has to say. No matter if it's a ramble or a verbal gaffe or an innuendo or a long technical speech he'll never understand or even an angry tirade. He always, always, listens intently to every single word she speaks. It feels like betrayal not doing it now. He betrayed her, he betrayed the silent vow he made to her and it only makes him feel even worse.

He falls to his knees in front of her and immediately misses her touch. She's always been an anchor to him. Come hell or high water if there was anyone in the world he could count on to be honest and guide him, it was her. And now he cannot even find solace in that because his own body's betraying him by not letting him feel her touch, not even the soft humming of a few seconds ago.  
He knows it's there, rationally he knows she hasn't stopped for even a second in her ministrations, but there's only pressure. A pressure that could belong to anyone. Long gone is her silky warmth or her tight grip. Long gone is her soothing touch or her defining electrifying caress.  
Moisture runs down his cheeks and he finds it weirdly amusing he cannot even determine if they're tears or sweat. Perhaps they're Felicity's tears, because he can feel a forehead pressed so tightly to his he wouldn't be surprised if they'd be stuck forever. He wouldn't mind. Having her so close to him for the rest of his life, it'd be the best gift ever. Her lips always so close he could spend hours, even days, just kissing her. Her eyes always so near they'll be the only thing he'll ever see. He could count all the light freckles adorning her nose once and for all. But he cannot even have that. It disappears suddenly, all of it. The forehead, the moisture, the pressure and he blinks open blurry eyes that only see gray. Gray that becomes black.

In the inky blackness of his subconscious he returns to the island. It's really not so surprising; if there's something on this Earth that could make nightmares become real it surely is that Godforsaken patch of land. He knows firsthand.  
It might be over seven years since he physically left the island but he's always been aware a part of him would always belong there. He left his youth, his carelessness and his innocence and brought back darkness, pain and despair. They pulled him down and down each day no matter how long and tirelessly he fought. It was only logical then that when the shadows of unconsciousness took over it manifested in his nightmares, reminding him night and night again of the monster he had consciously become to honor his father and the promise he did to him.

As much as he loathed them he also welcomed them. Being home, a new person that nobody knew and nobody even believed he could actually be, was hard. In fact, it was much harder than what he could have ever imagined.  
He realized how twisted and how broken he actually was when he felt more alive with a bow within his hands than at home with a family he loved fiercely. He doesn't know what it says of him the fact that sometimes he wished he was still there. Not at the beginning when he was just a stupid boy who didn't know the first thing about living and survival. Not later when torture and pain and death and blood and betrayals and tears tainted the whole ground red. But at the very last. He missed those days, just as he once told Helena, where there was nothing but freedom. It was just him and his bow and a simple life away from expectations, responsibilities or promises. He's aware of how selfish it sounds, echoes of the young Ollie still within him, but he couldn't help but want those simple days back.

Everything was complicated when he returned and it turned more and more as secrets were uncovered. The blindfold was off then and sometimes it was just so hard and exhausting to keep fighting, to keep going on, when he could just give up. He could've surrendered to stop all the pain, if only he wasn't so stubborn.  
The nightmares turned uglier in those moments, bloodier than he remembered them to be, and he woke up kicking and screaming more tired than when he went to sleep.  
For a long while he actually believed his nightmares would kill him before the villain of the week did but they started to ease and he was so shocked it took him a while to realize why.

He knows Digg and Felicity are the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's aware their presence, trust and unyielding loyalty have changed his life. He's aware they've saved it. What it took him a while to understand was that just by opening to them, even as little and as reluctantly as he did, was helping him cope. His nightmares frayed around the edges and he could identify them as such. He was at home, in his bed, sleeping. What he saw was the past, a disturbing and terrifying past, but a past nonetheless. If that's not the best thing they've done for him he doesn't know what could be.  
Sure, the nightmares return full force when stress spikes in his already agitated life but he can control himself and, more importantly, he can control them. He can wake himself up and go back to sleep or he can stay in his horrid dreams relearning from his mistakes and failures if he so wishes.

When the Undertaking happened and he ran to Lian Yu he was sure the star of his nightmares would be his city's crumbling and Tommy dying. He was only partially right. Tommy did star in his nightmares but he was never underneath the rubble of CNRI, he was in the island with him. He watched him die a thousand horrible deaths there, not a single one resembling his actual perish.  
He took Sara's place when the Queen's Gambit capsized. He took his father's place as he shot himself in the head making him promise to survive. He even took his own place in Billy Wintergreen's torture. Yao Fei changed faces with his best friend when Fryers pulled the trigger. He got burned as Slade got burned. And his face took over Sara and Shado's in the most horrendous choice he had ever been given.

But that wasn't the worst, oh no, and he should have known. He killed him next. He killed him just like he killed Fryers, becoming that way his first ever kill. He smashed his head with the same rock he murdered the soldier threatening Shado such a long time ago. He shot him in the chest, in the very same spot the rebar protruded from his body back in Starling City and in the same spot the bullet penetrated Ivo's torso. He murdered him just like he did with Slade, a single arrow to the eye. No mercy, not even reaching for a cure he knew would bring his friend and brother back.  
He was exactly what he accused him of being in those dreams. A murderer. A killer. A psychopath. He should have seen the foreshadowing there.

His team saved him again and upon returning home to them his nightmares got more manageable again. QC, Isabel Rochev and handling the consequences of the aftermath of the Undertaking kept him so exhausted that for a while he believed they might even disappear. Then the Count happened and Felicity starred side by side with Tommy in his renewed night terrors. From then on it was hell. Both by day and by night. The Mirakuru happened and in his dreams Slade tore Felicity's heart out with his bare hands before cutting his best friend's head off. His mother betrayed his whole family and in his dreams Malcolm Merlyn, his mother's puppet master, riddled both Felicity and Tommy with black arrows.  
By the time Slade made his appearance he knew his very own darkest and weakening nightmares would become real. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he didn't rest, he couldn't even breathe. He didn't need the nighttime for his bad dreams to appear because he was already living in one.

He almost died, way before he even fought with Slade. If it hadn't been for Digg and Felicity and the tranq darts they were getting fond off, he'd have collapsed. At the time he was livid and unloaded his rage on them but neither blinked. They did what was necessary and they never apologized. He did, after everything was said and done and Slade was beheaded and cremated for good measure. He did, after they all licked their wounds and let them heal. He did, but not before he drove himself to the brink of sanity looking for Felicity.  
After that Tommy disappeared from his nightmares altogether, that twisted honor belonged to Felicity and Felicity alone.

During their friendship she took the place Tommy had previously taken in his particular revision on Lian Yu's bloodiest events. But, as time passed and the true meaning of their relationship became clearer he also revisited her brushes with dead. Only his imagination showed him all the horrible outcomes that could have been if she hadn't been so damned lucky.  
She could have blown to pieces before he even knew her and what her friendship could be to him. She could have been pierced in the heart by Helena's arrow because of his selfishness. She could have been shot in the head in the back of that underground casino, another symbol of his failures. She could have been buried alive underneath his own club; in the only place he'd ever believed her to be safe. She could have tainted the island with her blood if the landmine had gone off. She could have been taken, tortured and exposed by the Dollmaker if he hadn't managed to get to her in time. She could have writhed in agonizing pain until her heart gave out if Count Vertigo'd have injected her with his poison. She could have died bravely, a hero's death some'd say, if the Clock King's bullet had inched a little to the left. She could have had her throat slashed by Slade's blades, his promise to take everything he held dear finally fulfilled. She could have been starved to death in that abandoned office building in the outskirts of town, more innocent blood on his mother's hand.

He couldn't get those images of his head so he did the only thing he could to reassure himself. He went to her. He either called her, listening to her voice until she fell asleep and her steady breaths lulled him to follow her. Or he presented himself at her home, a shadow that never disturbed her and just basked in her presence or a desperate man in need of her solace. As a result they got closer and closer and he touched her more often; seeking the reality of her solidness and warmth.

By the time they started their relationship his nightmares had turned more common. A slip in the shower, a trip down the stairs, a kitchen fire, a drunk driver. Those were easily assuaged, though.  
They shared showers so her body was always steady. He always held her in any way, directing her steps in the high-heels she loves. He bought two fire extinguishers, storing them underneath the sink. He always made sure she was near at least an airbag and her seatbelt always fastened, no car was started until that happened no matter what.

Now he dreams about the future. They're usually good. Many wedding revivals, many achievements, many parties and plenty of kisses. He dreams of making love to her. The dozens they've already live and the thousands more he plans of living. He dreams of her pregnant, always heavily and always glowing. He dreams of children and milestones. He dreams of letting go of the Arrow. He dreams of a lifetime with her, full and complete. It always ends with them growing old together, side by side until the end.  
Sometimes his darkest side shows him Felicity hurt by something mundane or something more in tune with their night job, but she never dies. Not once.

So it's disturbing and discouraging seeing her back in the dense foliage of the island when he's made so much progress.  
He doesn't want to go through all that again. He doesn't want a remainder how fragile and precious human life is – how fragile and precious her existence is to him. But no matter what he does, how much he screams and trashes it never flickers. Death by death he sees her light dim a little bit more each time until her unseeing eyes are locked with his. Beautiful smiling cerulean eyes turned dull and white, surrounded by blood, tears and dirt.

He bolts up the metal bed in the foundry but he still sees the green of the trees instead of the grey of cement walls. He's aware that he's projecting his fears into reality but he cannot erase them, they refuse to go, making the beeping background noise pick up in tempo with his heart.  
He tries to shake the vice tightening harshly and painfully over his chest, immobilizing his arms, but it's to no avail. He might not be able to move but he's going to keep fighting until his last breath. It feels close, though. He's already hyperventilating and the solid mass pressing over his lungs isn't helping. So he fights harder and harder begging for the sweet darkness of death to give him peace once and for all. He just wants to be with her, now and forever.  
For a second he believes he's gotten his wish until he blinks and realizes the black he sought is actually blue. Cerulean blue. A very familiar cerulean blue.

He breaks and he's acutely aware of it. His tears of relief blur the vision of those gorgeous eyes he loves but the color never wavers and he stops fighting. It was all a nightmare. It was the past. She's alive and well and just as beautiful and bright as ever. She's been spared again.

Roy's arms free him and he rolls to his side to haul her to him. He loses sight of her eyes but her caresses are back and he murmurs his thanks again and again against her abdomen, kissing it with fervor over and over until his lips feel fused to her sliver of skin between her skirt and her blouse.  
He knows how it looks like and the conclusions Roy's probably making and that it won't help in denying the new rumor about their pregnancy but he doesn't care. His only goal now is feeling her, letting her scent and warmth chase away all the darkness and coldness still lurking in his brain. Everything else'll have to wait.


	4. Sleeping beauty

**Disclaimer:** Arrow belongs to the CW, Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisber and DC Comics. Any recognizable character belongs to them and I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**AN:** My native language isn't English so all the mistakes are mine and mine alone as I don't have a beta. If you spot any, please let me know so I can correct them as fast as possible.

This is a sequel to my previous 5+1 fic "Like an old married couple". It's follows the events started there so I encourage you to read it first so this makes sense.  
I felt that, despite the the fact that "Like an old married couple" was finished and rounded, Oliver still had a lot to say and they still had things to live in the little universe I created for them. I hope you agree and enjoy.

Thank you so much for every follow, favorite, kudos or comment. They really make my day brighter!

I'm so glad I didn't scare you off with the angst chapter, I was quite worried about it because it's not exactly something you find in a pregnancy fic. Now here you have your reward. Something fluffy and mushy to tide you over until Oliver and his angst come back again.  
I hope you like this one too.

**04 - SLEEPING BEAUTY**

He stumbles upon Sara as they descend the stairs after a very long and very tiring evening. If he hadn't caught her by the back of her leather jacket she'd be sprawled over the metal stairs, aggravating her already damaged ribs.

It's surprising to see her so unaware after years of seeing her constantly alert but, just like it's happened with him, she's learning to let go too.  
Much more slowly, that's true; she, after all, doesn't have the blessing of having a Felicity Smoak attached to her hip all day. But he's glad to see she's finally getting comfortable enough in this place and with the people inhabiting it to show she's tired and hurt.

He helps her down but the second his eyes find another set of very pretty blue eyes and gleaming blonde hair she's on the backburner.  
He lengthens his steps and in five – yes, he counts – he has her enveloped in his arms. Minor contusions and scratches completely forgotten as she burrows her head in the crook of his neck, his hood shielding their heads.

He knows how worried she gets when he's out patrolling even if she mostly doesn't mention it. But it's not like he doesn't know her.  
He sees how hard she swallows and the subtle tremble of her fingers as she gives him his comm before he leaves the foundry every night.  
He might not be able to see her when she's directing him but he can hear the light strain of her voice in her commands. He might not be able to see her when she's listening to him fight but he can visualize her chewing her bottom lip raw, gasping with his grunts of pain and crying in relief when it's over and he tells her he's alright and returning to her.  
That's why he's always done something to reassure her that everything's back to normal when they reunite.

Shoulder squeezing and calming words gave way to hugs and caresses as their relationship progressed and, nowadays, kisses have taken over. And that's exactly what he does, ducking his head low enough that when she instinctively turns towards him their lips brush.

The world is completely obscured and inconsequential as he skims his lips softly upon hers. That's his offer of comfort to her. He's back, he's whole and everything's how it's supposed to be. Her lips always turn harsher on him then, as if seeking more relief and comfort from him.  
She nips and suckles and he lets her do whatever she wants to, if that gives her peace of mind he could never oppose.

Sometimes it turns desperate, when her tears wet both their cheeks and he has to hold her tighter as she trembles in his arms.  
Sometimes it turns passionate, her short nails scratching roughly; demanding more and more to make sure he's really alive.  
Sometimes it turns sweet and she burrows further into him before taking his hand and walking him to the shower.  
Sometimes it's just lazy and she lets her kisses loose intensity gradually until their lips are simply grazing, sharing breaths.  
Tonight it's one of those nights and he can feel her deflate in his arms, turning into mush, so with a last soft kiss he directs her to her chair.

She rests her head on his stomach and he cannot help but smile, he always likes an affection-seeking Felicity.  
He divests of his gloves, letting his fingers run briefly over the nape of her neck to her jaw so he can move her head back a little, just enough to get his leather jacket off him to drape it over her cool shoulders.  
She returns to her previous position soon, without a prompt, nuzzling her nose tiredly over his abs and he bites back his chuckle. He can feel that she's more than ready to go to sleep and he's going to make sure that happens before he takes care of Sara's injuries.

He can say without embarrassment he's always been fascinated by Felicity's hair. Always so bouncy and so shiny his fingers itch to touch it. The fact that it's almost constantly restrained just heightens that desire.  
He's always liked a challenge. And mysteries, too. And her hair is a mystery because, even after all these years knowing each other, he still doesn't know her natural hair color.

He thinks that's why it's so fascinating to him. It doesn't if it's straightened or curly, in a fancy up do or in her customary ponytail he always wants to free it and run his fingers through the silky strands. Twisting them back and forth looking for a clue about what color it really is.  
He hasn't been successful so far, but he's not a quitter and he has the rest of his life to figure it out.

From the moment he could actually touch it without becoming a creep he did exactly that.  
He's always the one who takes the elastic off or the pins down and he cards his fingers through it.  
It's exquisite. One of his favorite sensations in the world only made better by the soft purring and little moans she lets out when he massages her scalp.  
What he's learnt with time it's that's not only amazing for him but for her too. She relaxes to such a point underneath his fingertips she becomes boneless.

He's lost count of the times he's done exactly this to make her overthinking brain stop and conquer her insomnia.  
If it's an especially stressful day he'll drive his hands lower until he can ease the knots from her neck and shoulders before caressing her ears and returning back to her scalp. It always works like a charm and he has her asleep within minutes. This time it's not different.

He picks up her limp body gently, tightening his leather jacket around her shoulders, walking her towards the row of cots on the back of the basement.

It's the coldest part of the foundry and she doesn't really like it here, claiming that her hands and feet and ears and nose freeze over, but no matter how many times she complains, he's not going to leave her hunched over her table. It can't possibly be more comfortable.  
He's mindful, though, to tuck her underneath two heavy blankets that come way past her ears, feet almost mummified in his effort to keep her warm. He kisses her forehead a few times, lingering, before he lifts the hood of his jacket to protect her further from the cold.

Sara's already fussing around the med bay, getting louder by the second, so he knows he needs to leave her if only not to have her wake up yet; but it's never easy, even less so after the events of three nights ago.  
He shudders just remembering but he fights his instinct to curl up around her and steps away. She's safe here. She's going to be near. She's going to be within his eyesight every single second; he's placed her that way consciously. It doesn't stop the spike of terror up his spine.  
Sara grunts and hisses and he just knows she's hurt herself further, that's more than enough to shift his focus.

In another time he'd have found the steely hills and valleys of her partially nude body tantalizing and impossible to resist but not now. Not for a long time, actually.  
Now he just zeroes in on the expanding mottled flesh around her ribcage, curling upwards to her breasts, as he walks to her.  
It's serious, he knows as much, and for a second he really wants to call Diggle and ask him to come but he deserves a night off with his wife and sons.  
They've gone through worse – she's gone through worse – they can manage alone.

He approaches her clinically, latex gloves on and syringe at the ready.  
No matter how tough she is Sara still looks away from the needle piercing her skin as he extracts the excess of blood in the worse of the bruises easing the pressure on her chest; it never fails to make him smile.  
She breathes easier after that and his shoulders loosen a little bit more.  
He knows she's going to be out of commission, whether she likes to or not, for a while but as long as no organ is punctured or her muscles are even more torn that they appear – and nothing points that route – she'd be fine.

His fingers find a couple of cracked ribs, but they're not so sunken that he needs to reposition them for them seal up correctly, and another two more that most likely have a hairline fracture, if her hisses are any indication.  
He's as gentle as he can while he tapes the restrain over her ribs, but she still bites her lip in pain and her eyes glisten with tears she'd never let fall.  
He doesn't want to cause her further pain but he needs to keep going. Once she's patched up he'll pump her with enough painkillers to make a horse collapse.

Her shoulder's stiff and looks a little awkward, but he manages to return it to its original position as quick as possible.  
She's stubborn and tries to put a shirt around herself without help but the twists and turns and ups and downs only make pain flare all over her upper body so he takes over, easing her into it and fastening the buttons before putting a sling to prevent further movement on her shoulder.

It's then when he hears it.  
He's listened to it in every single tone possible. It's been angry and frustrated. It's been happy and teasing. It's been breathy and passionate. It's even been just like this, sleepy and content. But his heart still flips when she murmurs it in her dreams, impossibly soft, as if she's happy he's there with her even in reveries.

He cannot help but blink quickly, a knot in his throat as he turns to her. She's moved in her sleep, like she always does.  
He remembers how he awoke quite a few times during the first time sharing a bed because she kicked or punched him, moving away or towards him hogging all the blankets. He should have expected her to be a restless sleeper, all that contained energy with no outlet during the day only could escape when her subconscious took over.

It was the first and the last time he hasn't held her in their sleep. She seems to calm down a little if any part of him is touching her, so he does. All night long. But that doesn't mean she's stopped moving, just that he can maneuver them better.  
He lets her use him as her personal pillow, her head on his chest and leg between his. He lets her turn her back to him so he can spoon her. He lets her move onto her stomach so he can run his fingers up and down her back.  
He wakes up with every single movement, taking care of the needs she expresses with the hush of his name in the dark before returning to his dreamland. Tonight is no different; he just makes sure Sara's settled firmly on the metal bed before going to his wife.

She's a tangle of hair and jacket and blankets and he shakes his head in amusement at how adorable she always is no matter what she does.  
The blankets take a few tugs before they're free. For a second he believed she'd wake up but she just moves restlessly, nothing a couple of kisses on her freezing nose can't fix. Her hands and feet are cold too, so he stands up to pick up his gym bag.

He'd gladly be her heating pad but he still has a while before he can join her in bed and if he doesn't put an end to this she'll wake up shivering and grumbling. That's why he puts his overly large leather gloves on her hands, fastening them as tight as possible around her slim wrists. Thick clean shocks cover her feet after a quick rub to get them a little warmed up.  
Her whole body feels cool so he massages all around, kissing her knees and hips and stomach before zipping his jacket up.  
He tucks her even more firmly underneath the blankets and sighs. It'll be to no avail, he knows. He just hopes it's enough until he can come back to her.

Sara's watching him intently when he returns to her side and he just knows what she's thinking. The rumor has only grown louder and louder among their friends thanks to his breakdown and Roy's big mouth.  
Felicity hasn't caught up on it yet; she's been worried enough with him to even realize how cautious everyone's with her.

Digg has taken the chivalry to a whole new level. In the last few weeks since he caught them in the bathroom she hasn't opened a single door or carried anything heavier than a folder. He's even switched cars to another one heavier packed with airbags, something that did make her curious but forgot quite easily when the conversation was redirected.

His own sister's changed their own routines in takeout. Long gone are the heavy burgers and greasy Chinese food. They've welcomed vegetables and chicken and fish in their diet. Well, her diet. He already did that.  
He never expected her to notice this, though; she's never been picky with food. She likes everything and she'll eat whatever is put in front of her as long as there're no nuts in it. And both he and Thea make sure of that.

Sara's always been very perceptive and caught up really soon so he wasn't surprised when her training sessions turned up lighter. No sparring, no heavy exercise. In fact, they've turned to yoga and not the hardcore yoga he knows Sara favors but the mellow one; the one pregnant women practice to keep their body in shape without endangering the baby and their changing body.  
He'd roll his eyes if he wasn't so focused watching his wife bend and stretch, it always manages to effectively distract him.

Roy, for his part, watches her like a hawk in the foundry. She barely stands up now from her chair now.  
She needs a sample, he gets it for her. She leaves her tablet in another table, he fetches it for her. She wants a drink, he brings her tea. She frowns at that but she doesn't complain.

He's always conflicted when he sees them fuss around her. It amuses him to no end, even more given that she doesn't realize what's in front of her nose. It never fails to bring him a sense of calm; it eases his mind knowing they care about her – them – enough to do anything in their power to protect their baby. And that's the point of conflict. The baby. Or, more accurately, their fictional baby.

Sometimes he thinks their family and friends are more eager than they are to expand the family.  
He knows it'll happen; they've actually had a mature conversation about that. How many children they want to have, how do they want to raise them, how do their lives have to change to adapt to babies, how they believe the other will be the perfect parent picking after the messes the other creates, how the foundry won't be a good place to take their kids to so they'll probably have to relocate their base at some point.

He's even gotten to the point of imagining her pregnant, all maternal glow and heavy belly, and it only made him want to try to get her that way right then and there. So, yes, he wants it. And he wants it soon. But if there's something they have agreed on is that their baby won't be unplanned. Not as most things in their life are.  
When they're ready Felicity will get off her birth control and they'll try and try until her doctor tells them they've succeeded. That's what they want and that's what's going to happen, no matter how eager the uncles and aunts of their future baby are to welcome it into the world.  
Which is exactly the way Sara's looking at him now. Smirk firmly in place and eyes shining in mirth instead of pain. He's sure she's probably elated to be the first to "know" she's going to be an aunt.

He shakes his head and returns to work, helping her out of her boots and pants so he can take care of the abrasion that completes the set of injuries after her motorcycle accident. She's still smiling when he makes her swallow the painkillers and walks her to a cot adjacent to his and Felicity's.  
If she wasn't so wounded he knows she'll need help tomorrow he'd take Felicity and leave, just to escape from the knowing smiles. His wife wouldn't forgive him, though, so he clenches his jaw and glares at her trying in vain to keep her in check.

It his own fault, he's gotten quite attached to Felicity's stomach lately and it isn't helping. But he cannot stop. Just as once upon a time his hands seemed attached to her shoulders now they're doing the same with her stomach.  
He doesn't even know what's so fascinating about it, just as he didn't know what was about her shoulders that appealed to him. But it does and he won't fight it.

It's possible he's projecting. Everyone around him is pretty much pressing and when they ride on the car all he sees are babies on the streets.  
Moms wrestling angry toddlers into cars. Dads bouncing smiling babies in their arms. Parents walking hand in hand, their kids protected between them.  
He squeezes Felicity's hand harder then because he can see them do exactly that. And he cannot wait.

He has to, though. Now is not the best moment, not after the scare they got three days ago. It's rocked them and turned them even more codependent of the other than they previously were, and that's saying something. In fact, if someone's projecting is Felicity.

She's read his neediness for her and made it her own. Tonight's cuddles, kisses and caresses have been exactly that.  
He's ached to touch her every single second since he went on patrol with a heavy heart so she gave him what he needed upon returning, no questions asked. Tomorrow she'll realize Sara's injuries and she'll feel so bad for not helping her she'll devote her time to her every whim.  
He probably won't have her long for himself, so he hugs her tighter as he takes off the add-ons she won't need any more now that he's by her side.

His name becomes a prayer on her lips and he kisses her; forehead and cheeks, neck and wrists, ankles and hips. His last ones fall on her abdomen, low below her bellybutton, and Sara's eyes burn on his nape but he doesn't care. Tonight he holds his wife as she sleeps and he looks over Sara, he's sure it's going to make good practice for the future.


	5. King of overprotection

**Disclaimer:** Arrow belongs to the CW, Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisber and DC Comics. Any recognizable character belongs to them and I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**AN:** My native language isn't English so all the mistakes are mine and mine alone as I don't have a beta. If you spot any, please let me know so I can correct them as fast as possible.

This is a sequel to my previous 5+1 fic "Like an old married couple". It's follows the events started there so I encourage you to read it first so this makes sense.  
I felt that, despite the the fact that "Like an old married couple" was finished and rounded, Oliver still had a lot to say and they still had things to live in the little universe I created for them. I hope you agree and enjoy.

Thank you so much for every follow, favorite, kudos or comment. They really make my day brighter!

I'm so sorry for not updating yesterday, work was crazy and I was unable to sneak into the internet long enough to post the chapter. Good news is that I don't work on the weekends and I'll finish posting the fic on these couple of days.  
Hope you like this Oliver centric chapter, not as heavy angst packed as the last one from him I promise, and that it somehow makes up for the late update.

**05 - KING OF OVERPROTECTION**

He knew from the very beginning there was something about Laurel and Felicity's new friendship that stank. Maybe that was harsh but there truly was something unsettling about it. He loved them both, he really did, but he didn't get it.  
Sure his wife wasn't one to hold a grudge – if your name isn't Helena Bertinelli, that is – but Laurel hadn't been exactly pleasant with her and Felicity can be a little closed off if you cross her. But not with Laurel. For whatever reason – and he's not saying he's the reason because that'll be very conceited and egotistical of him – she brushed it off and worked on their friendship.

Sometimes seeing them share a glass of cider and a laugh is so bizarre he just sits there, watching both of them closely waiting for the other shoe to drop. It only makes Laurel laugh all the harder and Felicity to roll her eyes and elbow him slightly. They might downplay it but something's not right.

He'd never admit it aloud but he's thought about them a lot; what their friendship means for him. It's egocentric and very Ollie-like but he's the link between them. He brought Felicity into his circle and they met that way. Those are the facts. So he's sure nobody can fault him for believing he's a key into their friendship. He just doesn't know how big of a key he is.

At first he believed he was the center key. One so big that without him there was no way both of them could possibly be in the same room or know each other.  
He was the one who threw the parties, reunions, dinners or whatever gathering that made his two friends come together. They barely talked and when they did they were overly polite to one another; Laurel always sporting an apologetic face and Felicity so tense he was worried for her health.

The more time passed they started to become more used to one another, Sara made sure of that. She was making up for all the time lost with her sister and she was also aware of Felicity's lack of female friendships or woman figures in her life. She wasn't having that, so she instated "Girl night". His biggest nightmare. It meant the three of them, sometimes even Thea and Lyla, in Felicity's or Laurel's house consuming enough sugar to make them diabetic. He didn't learn about ice-cream hangover until the night after the very fateful first girl gathering.

He's sure that's the beginning. He's sure that Sara made them see their similarities. He's also sure that he became the topic of conversation at some point, but he prefers to brush that off. The thing was that they talked.  
He was elated, he really was. He was leaning towards Felicity at the time, far enough from her that it wasn't really the beginnings of their relationship but close enough to be perceptible that was the endgame, and Laurel saw that. She was aware and she made the effort, not because of him but because Felicity won her over.

He got used to seeing Felicity go to her in every party, just as she so often does to him, with a glass of Lime &amp; Tonic in each hand. They barely talked then, just walked to the quietest corner of the room and enjoy their beverage.  
She was grateful; he could plainly see it in Laurel's face. Parties had become too much, just like they did to him after the island. Too much noise. Too many smells. Too much temptation.  
Felicity was the respite, she always is even if she doesn't realize it, and Laurel was touched by the understated support. He was too. So, so much that he knows it's one of the reasons he began to watch her and really see her, see the whole picture of what she is and what they could be.

That's the moment where it all began to feel weird. He could sense there was something more to their friendship and he didn't have a clue about what it was.  
He'd believed it was because of Sara and Detective Lance, and maybe they played a part. Felicity loved them and Laurel came in the pack so she tried for their sake.  
Later on, though, Felicity confided in him about her mother's drinking problems and everything made so much sense. She knew firsthand how hard it was, the struggles, and she wanted to help. Of course she wanted to help, that's the only thing she always wants to do. It explained the patience, the softening, the support even when Laurel didn't deserve it. If he hadn't already been falling for her that'd have done it.

Still, something wasn't right. It was stupid because he had all the facts, everything was laid on the table and it made all the sense in the world, but something else nagged at him.

He got the first taste about the wrongness of that friendship shortly after Felicity and he started their relationship.  
They were happy, blissfully happy, so happy he wondered when the bad was going to make an appearance.  
They were all out to celebrate, dinner and drinks at Verdant. Everything was perfect. They were congratulated so many times it felt more like an engagement party than anything else; although he supposed it could very well be because that'll be the certain ending he could see in the future.

Laurel was happy too, he knew she was, but she was also off. Everybody noticed but nobody said anything, not until Felicity pushed him to talk to her. It was a talk that've been years in the making, they both knew it, waiting for the right time. It was emotional and filled with regrets and apologies but never sad. More like bittersweet, until they reached their biggest boulder in their path: Tommy.  
He was always missed, always remembered and forever loved but his absence was never more evident than in that moment. They both were very aware of what their common mistake had cost them, how it had affect them. Sometimes he found it difficult to go on, to live. If it weren't for Felicity he knows he'd have already given up a long time ago. He could only imagine what that was like for Laurel.

It felt like a betrayal, being so ecstatic when she'd probably never be as happy as he was, not without who everyone knows to be her soulmate. If he could he'd bring him back just for her but he knew he couldn't, so he did the next best thing he went to fetch his girlfriend. He knows no better shoulder to cry onto.

They both left Verdant, over his better judgment, for fresh air. An hour went by and then another and another and he almost hooded up just to look for them, and he wasn't the only one.  
Sara had started playing dangerously with the toothpicks on their table, Digg's gaze never left the front entrance of the club and Roy glared at his phone every two seconds while Thea fidgeted by his side.

Something was wrong he was sure of it, he just hoped they were both fine. Then Detective Lance called and his world almost collapsed.  
Hospital. Mugging. Blood. ICU. That's all he remembers, no how Roy had to shoulder his whole weight, not Thea's silent tears, not Sara's muffled curse or Digg's orders for everyone to get in the car. His only thought was not her. Not her. Not her hurt. Not her blood. Not her in the ICU.

He felt like the worst person in the world for wishing one of his oldest and dearest friends to be on the hospital bed instead of his Felicity but he couldn't help it. And, when Laurel apologized to him over and over again with tears pouring down her familiar green eyes, he also couldn't help flinching at her presence.

He got as far from her as possible, not even willing to see her. It was irrational, even in that moment he knew that, but if Laurel looked beat up and was up he couldn't even imagine how his girlfriend was.  
For 5 hours, 37 minutes and 12 seconds he ran over every gruesome scenario his imagination could concoct, and he has a very vivid imagination. So when he saw her, almost untouched, he didn't know how to react.

Sure, there was a heavy bandage over her right forearm and dark bruises dusting her jaw and temple. But nowhere near as bad as he had pictured her in his mind.  
The doctor appeared then in the private room he had demanded after she was discharged from the ICU and he finally listened.

Laurel had taken the heavy brunt of the fight but Felicity had gotten the worst part.  
When Laurel had been overpowered protecting his girlfriend Felicity reacted drawing the attention to her but she was punched so hard she had fallen unluckily over a glass bottle with her arm before hitting her head on the pavement.  
He assumed from the fact that they were safe and alive that Laurel managed to win the fight and call the paramedics and her father for help.

Laurel joined them right after the doctor had finished with his examinations and hugged Felicity fiercely despite being in pain. There were tears in both their eyes when they separated awkwardly and he helped her right over, taking account of her injuries. Black eye, check. Busted lip, check. Scrapes on her arms, check. Splint on her hand, check. Slight limp, check.  
If he hadn't been so worried about hurting her further he'd have hugged her as hard as he could. But he contained and only kissed her forehead pouring all his gratitude in the gesture before sinking on Felicity's hospital bed, head burrowed on the crook of her neck to hide his tears of relief.

She was out of the hospital the very next day under the doctor's advisement of taking it easy and having constant help and monitoring. Needless to say he was more than eager to volunteer. In fact, it was what propelled them to move in together or, more specifically, make him move in into her townhome.  
She got sick of it quite early on and they've never bickered as much as in those days when he practically hovered over her to make sure she was safe and sound and with him.

It was true that she'd had concussions before, too many for his liking, but this one was particularly bad. She had never lost consciousness before and the three long hours of her unmoving had frightened everybody, including the medical staff.  
It also didn't help that she was disoriented, nauseous and her vision kept being unfocussed even with her glasses on for a few more hours after. It was a wakeup call and his protective instincts took over for weeks after until he was reassured that all was well, that his Felicity was back.

There was nothing she could say or do to make him stop and she might have gotten that because she complied and, as the bruises faded and bandages were thrown out, things went back to normal. But while he was overjoyed that nothing worse had happened to them he realized what was so bad about Laurel and Felicity's friendship: they were danger magnets.  
Individually they had attracted more trouble to themselves than he was able to handle and, together, God knows what could happen.

He wasn't the only one who noticed. Sara had started to circle around them, always vigilant for anything out of the ordinary in their vicinity. Diggle always managed to find an excuse to get them apart without anyone noticing. And even Detective Lance tried to meddle in their recently strengthened friendship.

And that was the core of the problem. They didn't see what the rest did. They only dove head first into their friendship without any care in the world for their friends and families cardiac health.  
It might sound overdramatic but the facts were there, even if Felicity laughed in his face when he exposed all his troubles to her.

They were both careless and tempted fate more often than not with their weekly, if their schedules allowed them, lunches. Alone, of course. Because they caught them in their protection duty early on as each and every single one managed to crash, at least, one lunch.  
He has the record but that's just because Quentin didn't get to actually enter the restaurant before Laurel sent him away that second time.

So, yes, he loves them but they should never, ever, be alone and this is why. Only they could actually manage to get in the middle of a bombing during their last lunch. If only they'd listened to him, he wouldn't have to be running through paramedics and cops and firemen looking for a very familiar gleaming blonde ponytail.

He told them, he did, and they didn't listen! Felicity knew what was going on with this string of bombing throughout the city and she also knew his gut never failed, and she shrugged him off!  
He has been waiting for Quentin's call the whole hour she's been away, he knew it was coming. He was just hoping and praying that it wasn't to tell him to go identify his wife in the morgue. At least, he has that small miracle. But it means very little the moment he sees her bundled under a big blanket on the back of an ambulance.

He swears she's going to be the death of him.  
During his youth, on his very few and brief moments of matureness and sobriety, he wagered that he'd OD. Drugs and alcohol would end up killing him if he didn't slow down. He never did though. He wasn't chasing death, he wasn't that messed up. But he need and out, a respite.  
He just wanted to escape. Life. Responsibilities. Expectations. The future.  
He wanted to be free, to be himself, and he could only be that through those poisons. Through numerous girls and deceptions. Through pain and disappointment.

Sometimes he took conscience of his actions and wanted to change, to stop.  
He even got to try more than once, just to erase the tears from Laurel's face or the frown from his mother's mouth.  
But the pressure returned fast with more quips about QC and legacies and moving together and he couldn't do it. He just wasn't strong enough.  
So he sabotaged his stay at the new school or chased after a new conquest or embarked a boat trip that'd change his life forever.

On the island, he was sure he'd be killed. Whether by an animal or man, it didn't matter. He'd bet his own life, as ironic as it sounded, that he was going to be killed. Without being able to defend himself because he was just a pathetic rich brat who didn't know anything about life.  
Sometimes he even thought about taking his own life, ending his pain. But his father's memories and his own pitiful nature stopped those fantasies short.

To his surprise he ended up surviving long enough to learn how to protect himself. With plenty of scars as a souvenir, of course, but he was alive when the people who inflicted them were not and that was a gift on its own. He was stronger then, more resilient. Long gone was the useless and whiny little Ollie. He was replaced with a hardened and stoic new version. Oliver, instead of Ollie. A man, instead of a boy.

He believed he'd die fighting from then on. He wasn't egocentric enough not to realize he's not the best, he's not infallible. In the end, he'd find his match. In the end someone'd best him and they'd finish him off. Slade proved him how easy that could be while Malcolm actually rubbed it in his face after all their battles.  
What he was sure about, though, is that he'd fight until his last breath. Never yielding. Never forfeiting. Never surrendering. A warrior's death.

That death he actually sought for until the last few years, when he returned home for the second time and found a reason to keep on fighting and living for.  
It was honorable. It was dignifying. He could finally let go of the pain and still be himself, the part of him he discovered through fire and blood.

Now he knows better. If he were a gambling man, he'd bet on a heart attack due to the stress. And it'd be all Felicity's fault, even if he never tells her so.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Laurel's talking rapidly and very harshly with a busy paramedic and signaling Felicity. It only makes his heart clench and rush towards her.  
He sinks to his knees so sharply and quickly he can feel his suit pants tearing but he doesn't care. Laurel being all mama-bear means she has something to protect. He's seen that before, when kids were being mean to her little sister in the playground or in high-school. Her retaliation techniques have evolved a lot from shoves over the sandbox and tripping over the corridors to her actual tongue lashing. But the sentiment is the same.

His hands shake when he grips the edges of the blanket Felicity's gripping fiercely over her shivering body, but he's relentless and tugs it off.  
Her previous nude colored dress, one of his favorites, is smudged black and grey but there's no red. But just because it isn't blatantly obvious doesn't mean it isn't there. So he traces every single line of her body, starting with her feet.

Her shoes are discarded, probably broken, because her feet are bare and filthy. He finds the first drop of blood then, adorning one of the few wounds on her soles.  
She's cold, the torn stockings not offering any coverage to the bitter November chill, so he makes himself go faster and further. No matter how upset those little scratches make him, they're no fatal; they won't even scar.  
Her calves show some grazes too and he realizes they're probably from the windows glasses as they exploded.  
He's careless as he pushes her skirt so far up her thighs she's inches from flashing everybody but he's covering her and no matter how worriedly she is trying to push the skirt down he's not budging. Not until he realizes there's nothing there, that her creamy flesh is untouched. He sighs when he finds nothing and takes his coat off to cover her legs entirely.

He can feel her gratitude in her touch, soft rasps of her painted nails over his short hair. He lets himself enjoy it for a second before he turns his head and his lips follow the line of her right hand and arm.  
The coppery taste of the blood clings to his lips and he fights hard against his tears. They're not serious. They're a mimic of the ones on her legs. But he can't forget Laurel. There's something more, something he isn't seeing.

His eyes snap upwards quickly, taking her head gingerly into his hands. There are some scrapes there too but he's not focusing on them but on her eyes. The same eyes that'd betray if she has another concussion. Another concussion that could prove dangerous to her health, as her doctor told the just before the left the hospital that last time.  
They're clear and as loving and focused on him as ever. He lets himself breathe then, forehead pressed to hers and noses nuzzling until he cannot smell anything but her.

He kisses her like the world is ending because, for a second, he believed his was. Teeth nip and lips suck. It's sloppy and passionate and far more showing than anything they've ever done in public, but he doesn't care. All the world could be witnessing and he wouldn't give a damn as long as Felicity was safe within his arms. Those same arms he cannot keep still because they're still looking for reassurance. Gliding over her back, caressing her scalp, pulling her waist closer, brushing over her stomach.

He curses under his breath. He's finally caught on. It seems like Sara also has a very big mouth.  
Felicity tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips as she did the very first time they met. It's a gesture that's always undone him and this time is no less, regaling her with a smile and a kiss on her forehead.  
He tightens the blanket over her shoulders again but he cannot help but kneel before completely engulfing her in its warmth, his lips falling over her stomach like his arrows to a target.

They're going to have to talk about this, maybe even finally do something about it, but he's doing damage control first before Laurel manages to convince the busy paramedic that an ultrasound really is in order.


	6. A bun in the oven

**Disclaimer:** Arrow belongs to the CW, Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisber and DC Comics. Any recognizable character belongs to them and I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**AN:** My native language isn't English so all the mistakes are mine and mine alone as I don't have a beta. If you spot any, please let me know so I can correct them as fast as possible.

This is a sequel to my previous 5+1 fic "Like an old married couple". It's follows the events started there so I encourage you to read it first so this makes sense.  
I felt that, despite the the fact that "Like an old married couple" was finished and rounded, Oliver still had a lot to say and they still had things to live in the little universe I created for them. I hope you agree and enjoy.

Thank you so much for every follow, favorite, kudos or comment. They really make my day brighter!

This is it! The last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've writing it. Thank you all so much, it's been a real pleasure.

**06 - A BUN IN THE OVEN**

He doesn't see her anywhere. He hasn't spotted her for the last ten minutes and he's on the edge of madness. Diggle has already caught on his predicament – quite early on because he's an open book in anything relating to her – and is trying to calm him down. To no avail, of course.

He's aware that the larger man has a point. He knows she takes a lot more time in the bathroom than ever. And that she needs to go every half-hour, like a clock. Sometimes she stays so long the times overlap, which he finds extremely amusing. But that's not the point.  
The point is that she always tells him and he accompanies her. Always. Not inside the bathroom, even if he has tried to a thousand times, but at least he's near her if something happens; if she needs help.

It was one of the very first no-negotiables of their new status. He's always near to help with anything that she might need, no matter how gross – her words, not his –, boring, stupid or fundamental it is. He's there. And, if for some reason he isn't available, someone else is. But not this time and it bothers him.

Twenty minutes pass and he's had enough, and he knows he's not the only one.  
Laurel has already torn through every single bathroom in the mansion looking for her and he sees her leaving for a second round. She's been in none the first time and he's sure this one it's going to yield the same results. Which only spikes his already high blood pressure another notch.  
Roy's like a caged lion too and has taken the rest of the rooms in the mansion and nada.

He's freaking out. Freaking out in a middle of another stupid campaign affair surrounded by overly questioning people and his mother. His delightful mother who's made their night a living hell parading them as trophies for hours. Not a respite from the endless rounds, not even for her easily tired daughter-in-law. She has been denied from this pleasure for far too long and he's sure this is her revenge.  
Hence his readiness to get Felicity out as soon as their duty was completed. Hence his readiness to get out of here and live the free Arrow night he wanted to in the first place. Just him and her in their couch, watching whatever movie Felicity's excited about while he listens to her rants and hums and sighs as he enjoys their child's leisure movements underneath his palm. That's his heaven. And this is his Hell.

He's just about ready to snap when Roy approaches, blinking quickly and phone in hand. He's relieved, he can tell, and if his young protégé is relieved means she's fine. That he's found her and she's fine. But he cannot find it in him to relax, not until he has her within his sights and he can kiss her and hug her and feel her belly between them, their child restless as usual.  
That's why he's sprinting out of the room as soon as he process the text Roy shows him, rising the tight attention Thea has been trying to keep their mother on for half an hour now to take the heat off Felicity and he. But he doesn't care, because he knows where she is.  
He barely manages to block his body before entering the kitchen, his shoes squeaking at the change of flooring, but he doesn't hear it. He just runs faster, yanking the door to the gardens open.

The night is cool and quiet, the shadows comforting, and he knows, instantly, why she left the party. It's so much nicer in here with the quiet and the darkness and the breeze.  
He slows himself down for a bit, giving her a few more seconds of solitude and peace. He knows she's been craving those, to the point of demanding them in her famous loud voice, but none of them have caved.

She's very precious to all of them; every single person important in her life would give his or her life for hers. No hesitation. No questions asked. She might even get mad and upset about it, but that's the way things are.  
But, now, it's not just her. It's their baby too. A baby so loved and so desired by everyone, not just them as the parents, they're all driving themselves mad in their overprotection. And, sometimes, she gets so desperate she sneaks out for a few moments. Not for long, it's never been longer than 30 minutes, but it's just enough to drive them insane with worry and her guilty for her "selfishness".

It shouldn't surprise him she caved tonight, even if she promised not to do it again when her due date is looming so close over their heads.  
It's been an overwhelming night. It's been a horrible party, even worse than those previously hosted by his mother, and that's saying something. If it's been that way for him, when he wasn't even the main attraction in the circus, he doesn't want to think how it was for her.

It's true he was by her side the whole time, hugging her to his side and easing a bit of her weight to avoid the strain that always gathers in the small of her back these days, as they circled the room time and time again. Both looking for the same thing, a chair. Just one chair where she could rest and he could stop worrying for a while. They had no such luck and he suspects his mother did that on purpose just to keep them circling the room for the rest of the evening.

He's sure it was to parade the big belly that seemed to become public property tonight. Everyone feeling entitled to reach out and rub it.  
He's had a hard time not yanking people's hands off his wife, especially given how uncomfortable it makes her coming from strangers. But he cannot repress the grin as he recalls how every single one got it out quickly as they felt the hard kicks their baby was giving, no doubt protecting her from those vultures.

The worst, though, has been his mother's superiority face throughout the evening. He has seen her smirk grow and grow as Felicity fidgeted tiredly by his side, from feet to feet, as each and every single person from Starling City's high society saw with their own eyes the future of the Queen family. In his mother's eyes, no doubt positioning them on top of everyone else in this stupid and pointless party.

That's her ultimate revenge, though. This party.  
Her way to reclaim the power they'd taken from her until two weeks ago when they finally released a statement of their good news and made it public with a brief appearance at their favorite Italian restaurant. Big belly in display and huge elated grins to match.

They've been extremely careful and quiet during her pregnancy. Very few people knew, just the closest, per Felicity's desires. He understood and agreed.  
It's taken them a while to conceive. So long he'd started to worry there was something wrong with either one of them. They grew so anxious they started a method. Everything was carefully planned and they followed everything to a tee waiting for their miracle. They tried and tried and tried. Until their first positive.  
Euphoric is not enough to describe how he felt in that moment. They cried together, laughing and smiling and as happy as they could ever imagine being. For exactly three days he was on cloud nine, waiting for the doctor's appointment that'll confirm their good news. He wanted to tell everyone, shout it from the roofs of the city he watches after at night. In the end, it was for the best he hadn't done that. Her period came just as they were waiting at the doctor's office. A bucket of ice cold water.

He held her that night, as tight as possible, trying to stifle his own tears of disappointment while shushing hers. The only thing they could do was keep trying and trust the method.  
Their doctor had already told them that it'd take time to conceive after so many years of Felicity being on birth control. They also knew it wouldn't happen right away, that these things take time.  
They'd welcomed the challenge and the thrill of "practice", at first. They didn't count on how it'd become a chore, a means to an end. They didn't count on how tiring and consuming and unromantic it'd be. But it worked.  
Finally, Felicity got pregnant. And he was happy, he really was. He wanted it more than anything in his entire life. But he was also waiting for the other shoe to drop. And he wasn't the only one.

They'd been awakened so cruelly the first time that this one they were wary. For the first few days they didn't really believe it. Felicity was fine, no sign of morning sickness or discomfort, and they talked themselves out of a winning. The doctor told them otherwise. She was very much pregnant. They'd finally made it! Still they kept their mouths shut and their happiness contained. Everything could go wrong in the first trimester. He watched her like a hawk, waiting for the months to pass so they could enjoy this and let the anxiety go.  
She was equally worried, he could see that. She moved more carefully, thought everything through before doing it, cut every unhealthy habit that could endanger their baby. She did everything perfectly and she still miscarried.

If there's a moment in his life he'd been terrified beyond belief was that one. Hearing his wife whimper quietly his name through the comm in the middle of an op broke his heart. He couldn't stop his tears streaming through his eyes as he sped towards the foundry cursing at the universe.

He froze upon seeing her beautiful legs covered in blood, so much blood he wanted to retch. It wasn't until she cried in pain sharply, clutching her belly, that he moved. He stripped and redressed faster than ever before and, by the time the rest to the team made it to the foundry, they were already speeding away.  
It was heartbreaking seeing her in the same table she should have been given birth to their precious miracle in seven months. They should be crying in joy, not in pain and grief. They should be receiving a wailing newborn in their arms, not sympathy looks and silence.

The doctor told them it happened in first pregnancies. That the egg – he had to stifle a growl at that because it wasn't just an egg, it was their baby; their life! – wasn't properly situated. That there hadn't been any damage to the uterus. That they could try again in a few weeks. The doctor was wrong.

Yes, perhaps, Felicity would be physically healthy but she wasn't mentally. Not by a long shot. She was crumbling in front of his eyes and he didn't know if he could hold her together no matter how much he wanted to. How could he when he felt like dying himself?  
He'd have gladly given his life ten times over for the baby they'd never get to hold.  
She cried herself to sleep that night, no doubt aided by the meds the doctor forced upon her. He was glad she was resting, he was glad he wasn't seeing more of her tears for a few hours; he just strengthened his grip on her hand and kept vigil letting his own roll freely. He wasn't going to sleep, not for a long while, not when the sight of her blood and their child's was still so fresh in his mind.

They never told anyone what happened, but they knew. He knows they knew even if no one has ever acknowledged it. He could see it in the sad faces, in the unshed tears in their eyes whenever they looked at them. It was more than obvious in the way they left them be, taking the responsibility for the Arrow and the city so they could regroup in peace and solitude.  
He still wasn't sure that'd been a great idea, though.

Upon returning home, Felicity retracted to herself. Every word was met with silence, every touch with a flinch. He knew she was hurting and he tried to respect her and let her cope as she saw fit, but he was hurting too. It was his child too. And, for the first time since he met her, he felt as if she didn't understand his view.  
He felt alone and tired and cold for the first time in years. It was Lian Yu all over again. A new kind of island that threatened to drown him – them – if they didn't fight it, together. He just didn't have the strength yet and for weeks he let her behavior pass, he let her be. Until he realized he was losing her too.  
That woke him right up because it was unacceptable, unthinkable. He couldn't lose her. Not after everything they'd went through. Not when he knew he'd never survive without her, that she'd never survive without him. So, one night, after another silence and another flinch he exploded.

He's not proud, and he still apologizes profusely when it returns to the front of his mind, but he cannot find it in himself to regret it because it brought her back to him.  
He yelled and shook her and pleaded and cried until he was hoarse and kneeling in front of her, face buried in the stomach that should've been starting to bulge. He was starting to lose his last thread of sanity when she started to tremble so violently it took all of his reflexes to catch her before she fell.

He forgot about what he was trying to do because he hadn't seen her break like this before, not even when their world imploded at the hospital. He was at a loss, completely out of his element, as her tears soaked his shirt and her lips moved restlessly over his shoulder. For over an hour he didn't understand a single word she was saying, but she was talking and it was more of a relief than he could have ever imagined. When the words finally made it to his brain everything made so much sense and he cried with her, holding her all the tighter.

She was wrong. She wasn't at fault. She didn't fail him. And he spent the whole night with a numb butt and a freezing back clutching her in the dark and telling her exactly that in every breaking tone he could muster.  
He thought they had run out of tears a long time ago, but they still had plenty left to mourn together the loss of their first child. They finally put him or her to rest, moving past the grief to keep on with their lives and, most of all, with their dream of forming a family.

He cannot help but smile through the couple of tears that still slide down his cheeks as he remembers that night filled with so much pain, so much grief and so much love and passion, too. Nobody can convince him otherwise, he's sure they conceived on that same fateful night. He's sure their little ass-kicking angel is going to be born because of their intense love rather than the stupid method they'd favored before.

He sees her rubbing her belly soothingly now, following the same pattern he does at any giving moment, breathing deeply through the discomfort. The grin expands, because it was that discomfort that made him realize this little one was sticking with them forever.  
There was no doubt when Felicity could barely leave the bathroom for weeks or was almost impossible to get her to eat anything because of the nausea.  
There was no doubt when her belly grew so fast they almost believed there was at least three of them in there.  
There has never been a doubt through back pains, swollen feet, numerous trips to the bathroom and constant fetal moving. And he knows she'd never have it any other way. It's clear in the brilliant smile and glistening eyes every single second of her pregnancy.

It's blinding now making her glow even more beautifully than in the previous months and he knows it's coming. They'll have their little bundle of joy soon, very soon if his hunch is correct. In fact, he wishes to celebrate more than just their wedding anniversary in three days this year. He just has to wait and see if the famous Queen impatience really is hereditary.

For now, he closes the space between him and his wife touching her shoulder slowly to make his presence known.  
It wasn't necessary, he knows she already realized he was there when she rearranged to let him space behind her before he even touched her. It just makes his smile widen even more as he snakes his hands towards her big belly, rubbing strong circles along the hard kicks before feeling their baby still and his wife sag in relief against his chest.

He knows they're being watched through the big windows of the parlor, he can feel their curious glances on the back of his head, but they can keep this instant.  
They can even keep their mutters about how surprising their parenthood is. They can keep their sneaky belly-rubbing and their clichés and their rants about hospital wings and nannies. Because he has something better, his remarkable girls snoozing contently against him for the rest of his life.


End file.
